


Dissonance

by RedTailedHawks



Series: In Tandem with Shadows [3]
Category: Superboy (Comics), Superman - All Media Types
Genre: Conner is in an abusive situation, Gen, also a disaster bi and very confused about life and living in general, he's baby in the first chapter, this story starts with Conner at about 12
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-16
Updated: 2019-09-17
Packaged: 2020-10-19 14:01:39
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,049
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20658419
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RedTailedHawks/pseuds/RedTailedHawks
Summary: Dissonance. n. A tension or clash resulting from the combination of two disharmonious or unsuitable elements.ex.: what the scientists your father hired put in your head versus your own damn observations of the world around you.





	1. Three Days and A Week

**Author's Note:**

> 'kay so, who needs a time line? me. who's written a timeline? you guessed it, not me. it's whatevs. just know that conner in this first chapter is around twelve, he's pulled out of the test tubes around the time Tim is being a general nuisance towards most of Gotham, as in during the main events of the last half of EotU. for the second chapter there will be a very generous time skip, and also a second chapter but you can thank my friend for that. They love Conner and Would Not Stand for me just leaving it where I left it here.

When Conner opened his eyes for the second time, he’s not strapped down to a table like the first time. It’s soft, and warm, and Conner didn’t want to open his eyes because he’s never  _ felt _ this before. He knew, of course he knew. They forced him to know. That he was strapped down. That what he felt was cold and the surface was hard and metallic. They gave him all of these words. They told him that everything in his head was their gift to him. 

That he owed them because they could have given him nothing. He knew who his father was. Knew he only had fathers. Knew that one of his fathers didn’t know about him. 

He met Mercy on the second day. They didn’t take the bed away and he awoke that morning as he had the one before. She was pretty. Her black hair was styled back away from her face and she smiled at him when he said nothing. 

“People usually say good morning,” she hummed, “your father asked me to bring you this.”

The file had the name of a woman with a backstory. Answers to questions he might get asked. 

“What is it?” 

“He made you for a reason Conner, he wanted a son. Wanted you. This is for the people who won’t understand. If they knew the truth they would want to hurt your father. Or even you,” Mercy explained. “Learn it, I’ll quiz you on it tomorrow. You’ll be having breakfast with your father today. Get dressed.” 

“Why can’t it be you?” Conner asked because he liked Mercy. She’s nice to him, didn’t tell him that he owed her his existence and didn’t make him sit still as they stuck needles in him and made him do weird things. He knew they were weird because they gave him those words. 

“I’ve worked for your father for a very long time, where would I have hid you away?” Mercy asked with a humorous tone but it wasn’t mean. She wasn’t calling him stupid, simply answering his questions. He liked it when she smiled and he liked it when she rubbed her hand on his hair messing it up. Conner gave her a tentative smile. 

“Oh,” he answered, “okay.” 

He dressed in the clothes Mercy pulled out for him and he thought about how he didn’t like it but he didn’t know if that was alright. Mercy walked back in to get him and watched him with laughter in her face. He frowned at the boy in the mirror. He didn’t like him, Conner felt stuck in the clothes Mercy gave him but he didn’t want to say anything. Mercy chose them for him. He liked Mercy, so he had to like the clothes Mercy gave him.

“I don’t think your father thought about the difference between the two of you, that you’d be your own person.” Mercy said softly, “I’ll give you magazines to look through, so you can see what you might like.” 

“Okay,” he said still frowning down at himself. “I don’t like my hair,” he said in a moment of bravery. Mercy laughed. 

“We’ll get you a haircut too.” 

His father was Lex Luthor, and Lex Luthor was bald. Conner didn’t think he wanted to be bald like his father but he didn’t say it because his brain informed him it was rude to say. He ate slowly, experiencing the food for the first time and he asked Mercy if she or father made it. She laughed again, not unkindly and told him they hired a chef to make the food. 

“Oh,” he said. A chef was a person who made food for money, his brain supplied him, and he added, “it’s good.” 

His father asked him a few rudimentary questions about how he felt and how he’s adjusting. He’s eager, Conner saw, to know more about what Conner discerned by himself. His father told him that he’ll take him to see the company sometime in the next few weeks, but he’ll be very busy. So if he needed anything as he adjusted to world around him to ask Mercy. 

“Did you know her,” Conner asked, “the woman in the file?” 

“Once, a very long time ago,” Mercy answered for his father. Conner nodded. He thought it was weird that only Mercy answered his questions. He didn’t say it outloud. His father was not as kind as Mercy. He knew this, somehow. He wondered if it was because he could see it in the man or because they told him. 

Mercy went slow in the first few days, letting him set the pace as he figured out a few of the things he liked and didn’t like. He pointed at a picture out of the many magazines Mercy gave him and he looked up at her and said, “I like his hair.” 

He also liked looking at his face but that was a feeling they didn’t put in his brain so he didn’t know what to call it. He didn’t think much of it because he liked all the faces of the models in the magazines. The women were pretty and the men were handsome. He didn’t say it outloud because that wasn’t what they were talking about. 

“I’ll schedule the hairstylist tomorrow, I think you’re ready to head out into the world for a little bit.” Mercy told him. Her smile was small and a little sad, like she didn’t want to but they’ve only known each other for a few days so Conner didn’t ask. 

Mercy the next morning presented him with an old looking leather jacket and a twinkle in her eye. Like she knew something he didn’t. Mercy probably did, she was probably a lot smarter than Conner. Conner liked that about her. Mercy was nice and she was smart and she’s known his father for a very long time. Conner has only officially known his first father for one day and he didn’t seem very kind at all. 

Conner put on the jacket over the jeans and shirt Mercy pulled out for him and he looked at himself in the mirror and couldn’t help the smile. It was soft and comfortable and didn’t feel stiff like the other clothes did. Mercy smiled at him and told him he looked very nice. 

Conner had only ever been in the garden behind the manor, so he knew that outside was much brighter and hotter than inside because it was summer, he knew the world would be very loud. But he didn’t expect it anyway. People hurt his ears when the spoke even from pretty far away. He knew it was because of his second father. They told him that. It was a lot and he didn’t know how to stop it. Maybe one day he could ask his second father how because right now it really hurt his head. He frowned and let Mercy put sunglasses over his eyes. 

“To help,” she said gently as Conner shrunk into himself. The world was too much. He wondered if his second father had it just as bad. He didn’t ask because he knew his father didn’t like his second father, they told him that. Conner was supposed to hate him too but he didn’t understand why. He didn’t ask, he found himself afraid they would take his new bed away and put him back in the lab where he first woke up. He didn’t want that. 

The haircut felt like it took forever but by the time they’re done he couldn’t help but run his fingers over the shortest parts. It felt good; a little bit funny but enjoyable. He liked it. 

On the third week when Mercy started adding other things to his schedule, like training and chores, Mercy led him to a room with a man in it. He looked bad and Conner frowned. He wanted to help him but he knew he shouldn’t. His father wouldn’t like that. 

Mercy explained that it was a bad man that tried to hurt his father. That bad men like him deserve to be hurt back. Mercy didn’t look very kind anymore and Conner didn’t like it. Mercy asked him what they told him to do to bad men like that.

“Hurt them back,” Conner answered automatically. 

“And what are you going to do to this man?” Mercy pried, waiting for him to come to the answer on his own. There’s a prickling in the back of his eyes, he’s not used the heat or the burst of red light that left him and pierced the man in front of him. After that everything was red. Conner didn’t know if it was because of the blood or the remnants of his vision. Mercy ruffled his hair like she had that first time he woke up. “Good job, Conner.” 

The next day Mercy made him dress up like he did on the first day he woke up in his room. She quizzed him on his pretend mom’s information and the questions he might get asked. He answered them automatically. She smiled at him proudly. 

“Today the world will get to know you as Conner Luthor, you’ll be with your dad, so if they ask a question you don’t know how to answer he can answer the question for you. If you get overwhelmed, don’t feel bad for letting me know. Everyone, including your dad, will understand if you do,” Mercy said softly, “no matter what your doctors put in your head, you’re still just a kid.” 

“Okay,” he didn’t understand the tone Mercy used at the end. It sounded angry but he didn’t know why. He didn’t ask, he rarely did. What if they sent him back and made a new him that didn’t ask so many questions? Mercy smiled at him and fixed his tie. 

“Alright let’s go,” Mercy said as she lead him out of the manor. 

At the press conference his father talked about his fake mom in a way Conner thought was meant to be sad but really just sounded insincere. The cameras were very flashy and his father’s grip on his shoulder was very strong. His fingers dug into the flesh of his shoulders as Conner tentatively answered the questions of the cooing media. Conner smiled nervously at the crowd but mostly looked down at his fingers. His nervous tick, he found out, was wringing his hands together. They didn’t tell him that. 

Maybe there was a lot of things they didn’t say. Things he would have to figure out for himself. He didn’t think his father wanted him to do that but maybe sometimes it couldn’t be avoided. Conner glanced back to where Mercy was standing. They’d been asking so many questions and Conner was starting to run out of answers. He wanted to go back to the mansion. Conner had done his duty and he hoped Mercy understood the look he was giving her. 

She smiled at him and walked over to them. The hour wasn’t up but there was something gross creeping up his throat.  _ Vile, _ the words “his doctors” put in his head supplied for him. She smiled at his father and placed her hand over his. The hand in question relaxed its grip on Conner and his father began a whole spiel about Conner being unused to the cameras and having to go, but any more questions could be fielded by himself. There’s warmth in his tone but it felt wrong. Conner didn’t like it, didn’t like how it grasped at his entrails and he ducked his head. This was just another thing he would have to learn to not question. 

Three weeks and a day from the press conference Conner can hear the heartbeat of someone at his window and when he turned around his sees his other father looking at him with hatred in his eyes and a look consternation. His left hand was lifted in a fist like he’s going to knock on the window. He set it down when he realized Conner was awake and staring right at him. He waited for Conner to do something. But Conner doesn’t like the look on his other father’s face. 

He had many questions he wanted to ask but in the last three weeks and a day he’s learned that asking questions could be very bad. He didn’t get hurt too bad outside of training but the green rocks made his stomach ill and his arms and legs feel weak. It always felt like he couldn’t breath and he got really tired. When he did or asked something his father or the doctors didn’t like they would bring the rock close but they never told him what it was called. 

Afraid his other father might have some of the green rocks, or would hurt him if Conner ignored him, he stood quietly and floated over to the window. So that Mercy or the guard his father had said was for protection wouldn’t hear him. His other father adopted a look that Conner thought might be horror or disgust, but there was something else too and he opened the window. He couldn’t ask but he hoped he wouldn’t have to. 

“You’re my other dad,” Conner stated. It verged on the question, he wondered if he’d known. He didn’t because they told him that but Conner couldn’t help but wish somewhere deep down his other father had sensed him. 

“I’m not your dad,” Superman sneered. He was mean. But so was his other father. “What are--?”

“I’m Conner. Are you going to hurt me?” He looked like he would but then he also looked as confused as Conner felt. He’s been getting good at figuring out what were his own observations and what were the stuff the doctors put in his brain. Sometimes they didn’t match up and he wanted to ask. He had so many questions. 

“Conner?” Mercy called for him. Her voice sounded sleepy like she hadn’t meant to be awake. “Conner!” 

He didn’t like the panic in her voice. Mercy was the only one that was nice to him. She took care of him when his father and the doctors punished him and when he trained with her was his favorite time. 

“You made Mercy scared,” Conner pointed out, “you should leave.” 

“Conner please come back inside,” Mercy asked of him. She turned to Superman with a glare. The moment Conner floated into her reach she yanked him close. He noticed the gun in her hand. He wondered if it had the green bullets he found the other day under her bed. “It’s not his fault.” 

Superman came closer, opened his mouth only to close it again and outstretched a hand toward him. Conner used his strength against Mercy for the first time outside of training to place himself between her and him. 

His voice was harsher than he’d ever made it as he glared at Superman, “you’re scaring her. Leave.” This wasn’t the first time one of his dads made him angry. The stories his father told him and the decisions he made were often enough to make him mad. But this felt different. He could feel the heat behind his eyes and the way his vision turned red. It felt. It felt…  _ right. _ “I said leave.” 

He finally did. 

But he looked back. 

That morning after Mercy yelled at him for opening his window and going against orders and then hugged him as a thank you for trying to protect her, she told him one part of the truth. 

“One day,” she said softly, “Superman may try to hurt you and you’ll have to fight him to get away. That’s why we train you so hard. So you have a chance.” 

“Oh,” he said. A frown marred his face. If his father was supposed to be a hero who only hurt villains, then what did that make him on the day it happened? “Okay.” 

Why did he look back?


	2. Parisian Lights and A Weirdly Pale Insomniac To Awaken A Bi Panic

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which two forces of nature meet and, unfortunately for everyone else involved, actually get along. Who needs to fight for an issue and a half upon first meeting when you’re the ambiguously good/bad guys and also pretty gay about it?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is. Exactly what it sounds like. Conner’s motto in his young adulthood is quite literally “be gay. do crime” and Tim is just like “haha. I do that” and it’s fine they play video games and break Tim’s consoles every other week.   
In other news, I’m in the throws of a semester and who knows when I’ll update next! It’s not like I have a set schedule. But with the power of procrastination a very specific number of things are possible! Enjoy!

Conner stopped asking questions somewhere around the time he turned 14. Stopped caring to fight orders around age 16, blindly following Mercy and Father’s lead. Pretending to be what they want him to be, desperate to fit in the world they know and the role they crafted for him. He adopted the persona of a boy who didn’t care about lesser people and began to think about that fateful night as Superman’s first betrayal of the ideals he so readily pretended to encompass. He kept the blank cold looks and the sneers on his face as a form of armour against the violence he faced daily. He used his shades as a filter for the world, making it dull enough to keep most of his senses from overwhelming him until he needed to use them. 

By the time Conner was 18 he dropped all his armor. Stopped caring about the role he’s supposed to play. He realized he’s not a theater kid and being on a stage never did truly call to him. His audience always booed him until they physically couldn’t anyway. 

His father tried to hurt him when he started questioning his actions and orders. He couldn’t have expected Conner to be fully isolated from the real world and when he took to the internet to get second opinions and views Conner began to form his opinions on what’s right and wrong. And sometimes his father was right and sometimes his father was wrong and he started demanding more information beyond “this man is bad” and “this man is trying to hurt your father”. 

He learned quickly that his father didn’t like that new development and Mercy couldn’t be prouder though on occasion she hesitated to show it. But that’s just Mercy, who loved his father in a way Conner didn’t think was smart because he never showed indications of whether or not he loved her as more than a well taken care of tool. 

He found it an apt description for the way his father loved him. 

Conner chose to go and stop Tim Drake more out of curiosity than because his father told him to. Conner didn’t quite agree with making deals with arms dealers and if his father were to get media flack for it and the incompitent scrutiny of international government then Conner really wouldn’t care. 

Timothy Drake was responsible for cleaning out Drake Industries of most of its board members and adamantly refusing to merge with Wayne Incorporated  _ or _ his father’s company. He’d been the talk of the ball in most of the socialite gatherings he went to as part of the deal he made with his father: a clean image and the occasional murder for his freedom… and college, much to his dismay. 

The nepotism didn’t entirely escape him even when he put in the bare minimum effort into his business specific classes and a little bit more emphasis into the music major he decided on for himself. More to spite his father than anything else. If it were up to Conner the only school he’d be learning from would be the school of life. 

All of which was besides the point. It wasn’t so much Drake’s business minded past-time that intrigued him as the secret hobby of gathering intel for Oracle and the occasional side job. Of course he wasn’t  _ supposed _ to know that Tim Drake was the dragon that hoarded personal information like it was gold and probably knew quite a bit about Conner if the unimpressed look Tim Drake offered him as he took a seat across him were to be taken seriously. 

Conner hasn’t taken anything seriously in a long while. 

“You know you’re too late right? I’ve already sent the evidence in,” Tim Drake informed him. His voice was quiet and a bit rough at the edges like he hasn’t spoken in days. He probably hasn’t. Oracle’s nameless informant had a reputation of never speaking. He was ruthless in a fight, quick, precise, and left most of his victims at the edge of death. He’d be nothing for Conner to dispose of. 

But he won’t because he’s more scared of a faceless entity that could figure out everything about him with a snap of their fingers than he was of what his father might want to do to him when he found out Conner not only let Oracle’s informant go but had a nice little chat beforehand. 

“If I wanted to stop you, zombie eyes, I would have,” Conner grinned at him. Conner didn’t know what a warm smile looked like and Tim Drake offered him no frame of reference as he slowly closed his laptop. 

“How nice of you, what do you want then?”

“Can’t a guy be curious?” Conner said slinging one arm over the chair’s backrest and slinking down, spreading his legs. Conner had taken a long time to want to take up as much space as possible in his short life, but he reached a point where taking up as much space as possible was simply a given. “You know if it weren’t for the eyebags you wouldn’t be half bad to look at, coffee jitters.” 

Tim Drake snorted. 

“Whatever you say,  _ Luthor _ .” Alas, Tim Drake’s opinion about his father made itself known with only his last name.  _ Christ,  _ Conner found himself wanting the whole fucking thesis. 

“Please,” Conner said, much too earnest than he’d meant to, “call me Conner.” 

Tim Drake looked surprised. Conner found he quite liked surprising him, so he decided as soon as Tim Drake stood that he would follow. 

“You know,” Tim Drake said, “for someone who kills indiscriminately you sure are bad at threatening me with death for ruining your father’s career.” 

Conner chuckled and then proceeded to lie his ass off, “this was a low priority. The old man’ll be annoyed I didn’t kill you but if you think he can’t weasel his way out of that then you don’t know who you’re dealing with.” 

“Say I believe you,” Tim Drake said plainly, “why are you following me?” 

Conner’s smile turned into something sharp and wicked. He slung his arm around Tim Drake’s shoulders, pulled him in close, watched as he stiffened under Conner’s grip knowing he was seconds away from being in between one wrong word and death. Conner was volatile, he was sure whatever file on him Tim Drake possessed said so. He was a wild card. Someone who would kill on a whim, no real rhyme or reason behind his actions. Or maybe Tim Drake was as smart as the act he put up implied. And it said that Conner chose the people he hurt carefully, that his father would point him to someone but it’s through his own careful consideration whether he went through with it or not. Maybe it said that one day they would meet and Tim would be left at his disposal. Maybe it detailed exactly what Tim Drake had to do to be able to get away unscathed. 

Maybe Conner wanted to be at his disposal instead. 

“Is it odd that I find you interesting, Tim Drake?” Conner asked. Conner didn’t think he could actually stiffen more. He tilted his head down to peek at him from above his shades. Shock danced across Tim Drake’s features like he hadn’t realized Conner knew who he was. But how couldn’t he? By all means they ran in the same social circles as civilians. 

And how couldn’t Conner know about Oracle’s most notorious informant? A man as lethal as Tim Drake that made no real effort to conceal his identity should not be as surprised as he was… or maybe to Tim Drake it  _ was _ odd to be found interesting. Either way it made Conner sad. 

It meant Tim Drake was either very, very stupid or very, very unappreciated and in Conner’s book both were a crime.

“Do you want to come up to my room?” Conner stumbled— eyes widening as his face slowly heated up— that wasn’t the answer Conner was expecting. Tim Drake continued on with a satisfied smirk, like Conner confirmed something for him. “I have a Nintendo switch and Breath of the Wild.” 

That made so much more sense, actually. 

“Why not?” 


End file.
